


Stones

by Who Shot AR (akerwis)



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Bittersweet, Conversations, Dragons, Friendship, Gen, Mathematics, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Pre-Canon, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-14
Updated: 2010-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:29:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akerwis/pseuds/Who%20Shot%20AR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perscitia's first two days out of the shell.  Written for the <a href="http://temeraireficfest.dreamwidth.org/">Temeraire ficfest</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pitseleh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pitseleh/gifts).



Outside her shell was not so very different than inside of it, she found; the place she found herself in was warm, if not as satisfyingly close and dark. It was rather _louder_, however, which she did not care for at all. Though the shell had been cramped as of late, necessitating her flight from the egg in the first place, it had muffled everything about her until voices were murmurs and the most present, persistent sound was that of her own heartbeat. For a moment, she was tempted to retreat back into that space and remain there through all foreseeable futures; then, she recalled that it was in pieces behind her and could never be her home again. This place, rumbling with noises and filled with the tall, straight creatures she knew instinctively must be _men_, would have to suit, for it seemed her only option now.

Before she had more than a moment to unfold her wings and stretch out her tongue, tentatively, one of the men crouched down before her, holding something between his hands. "Good evening. We've been waiting quite some time for you."

"Have you?" she asked, and touched with her tongue the apparatus he held. Its smell was indescribable at that moment, though she intended she should learn the name of it later, but set her to realizing how empty her stomach felt. "You've brought me something to eat, I hope; I am very hungry."

He laughed, his mouth turning up at the corners. "You may eat all you like in just a moment, I promise you. I am Francis Aldridge."

"I am a dragon," she replied, and was not precisely sure why his eyes crinkled further at her answer. It was, after all, the truth of things.

"So you are, and a pretty one to boot. Ah--you have no name," said Francis, suddenly grand and sounding as though he were reciting words he had learnt some time ago. "Will you allow me to give you one?"

The temptation to ask to pick her own name was rather strong, only she could not think of any possibilities herself.  Probably this man was much better qualified to give names, and so she said, "Yes, I would like that."

He smiled, so broadly that she could not imagine. "Perscitia. Your name is Perscitia."

"Perscitia," she repeated, feeling the syllables click in her mouth as she repeated them. She fixed her eyes upon his, quite "Is that a very good name?"

"The best," Francis assured her. "It means 'very clever' in Latin, and I can already see that you shall be the very cleverest of dragons. Now, you may have a bit of meat once you have let me put on this harness. Would that be all right?"

Perscitia bobbed her head up and down, and lifted feet and wings as necessary to attach it. After she had eaten, finding it terribly satisfying to tear into the fresh-butchered meat, she licked herself carefully clean, down to her talons. Finding herself sated entire, she butted her head against Francis' hand affectionately and curled up, her tail over her nose, to sleep.

-

"I like flag signals," Perscitia informed Francis late the next afternoon, when all the light was golden and Celeritas declared her work acceptable for the day. "They are very easy."

Francis grinned. "Not _too_ easy, I hope; I should hate for you to grow bored."

"Well," she considered, scratching a talon back and forth into the earth, "we will do other things, too, won't we? Only I do not want to spend all my time memorizing flags and flares."

"When you are large enough, we will begin learning formations, as the other dragons do," he said, having settled himself next to her on the ground, and began rolling up his shirtsleeves to his elbows. "And then, when you are properly trained, and our crew is likewise, we shall fight the French."

"Fight the French?" Perscitia repeated, feeling all over skeptical at this prospect.

"In the war, naturally." Francis ran a hand through his dark, curly hair. "You will have to be front and center--with your colouration, we could never hope to spy upon the Frogs."

After a day of admiring her bright blue and green scales, and deciding them quite more splendid than any of the other dragons', she suddenly wished herself as drab as the buildings the men lived in. Being noticeable had seemed far more desirable when it resulted in being petted and admired, not when it meant flying directly into the guns she had learnt the signals for that day. "Battle seems very dangerous," she said, slowly.

"It is," he owned, "but if you are willing to risk everything, even your life, you have everything to win. Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"I should prefer to have nothing, then," Perscitia declared stoutly, inwardly feeling that coming to blows with other dragons, let alone giving them the chance to kill her, seemed like a ghastly fate. "I do not want to fight anyone, even if they _are_ French."

"Well, aren't you a little Quaker?" Francis said, laughing, and reached out to stroke Perscitia's brow; she leaned into his touch, wondering what precisely a Quaker was, and why it should make her so funny a dragon. She had no opportunity to inquire, however, before he continued, "Don't worry, Perscitia. You're a smart little thing; you shall be a wonder on the battlefield when we have got you trained for it."

Unease had settled upon her like a second set of wings at the word _battlefield_, but Francis must certainly know best, and so she nodded mutely.

Perhaps he noticed, for he said, "Here, this is enough thinking on wars and bloodshed for the day. Why don't I teach you something else, so you don't grow too weary of signals?"

"All right," Perscitia agreed, and when he stood up, peered at him curiously.

"Stay where you are, if you please, I just want to find something--here!" he said, his voice growing louder as he wandered farther afield, bending down to pick things up from the ground occasionally. When he returned, he sat next to her once more and lay several stones in front of her. "How would you like to learn some arithmetic? How many stones have I brought over here?"

"Eight," she answered immediately, and poked one with a talon. "Are they for me?"

"If you'd like them," he answered, quite generously. "Someday I shall give you proper jewels, though, not just stones from a field. Now, suppose I only gave you two of the stones. How many would I have left?"

"Six." After a moment, she added, "But I don't see what you would do with stones; you may as well give them all to me."

"Suppose I agree with you." He was laughing again, but this time, she did not mind it at all. "You have two, and I have six, but I give you three more. How many have you got?"

"Five. Arithmetic is very easy."

"I told you that you would be clever. Let us try a more difficult problem..." They continued in such a manner for some time, even after the sun set, and Perscitia wondered that anyone should ever bother with fighting when mathematics were an option.

**Author's Note:**

> Perscitia is my very favourite of all the dragons (though Temeraire is a very close second), and so when Pel indicated that a story about Perscitia as a little baaaaaby dragon would be agreeable, I knew just what I wanted to write.


End file.
